


The Newsies of New York

by J_Scarecrow



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Character Study, Gen, One Shot Collection, Relationship Study, basically just me exploring how different people interact with each other, because let's face it the main characters have enough stories already, mostly not romantic, some of these might focus on just one character who knows, will probably mostly focus on the ensemble newsies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Scarecrow/pseuds/J_Scarecrow
Summary: The newsies of New York are one big family - it's hard to find a pair who haven't spoken to each other at least once. The dynamics between some of the newsies is something interesting to see.Basically this is a bunch of little stories showcasing different people who you don't usually see interacting. It'll be better than this summary is making it sound, I promise!





	1. Spot and Romeo - The Border of Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> This is driven purely by the fact that I usually see the same people interacting with each other and I wanted to explore some of the other characters a bit, especially the ensemble newsies because they need more love. That's not to say the more main characters (like Jack, Davey, Crutchie, etc.) won't appear! It's just that the chances of them getting a chapter together in this are slim. So sit back and enjoy, I guess!
> 
>  
> 
> In this chapter, Spot gets an idea of his reputation in Manhattan, and Romeo learns a little more about the infamous Spot Conlon.

Sometimes, Spot found himself questioning why he tended to visit Lower Manhattan whenever he could spare a second. Sure, as the king of Brooklyn he had a duty to check up on different boroughs every once in a while, but he didn’t know Queens or Midtown or the Bronx as well as he knew Manhattan. The strike probably played a role in his (sort of) fondness for the newsboys there, and maybe he let Racetrack drag him to the Manhattan lodging house for a game or two because he couldn’t really refuse the boy. And _maybe_ he liked the more light-hearted, friendly atmosphere compared to the serious one of Brooklyn - even though he would never admit this out loud and wouldn’t trade his place in Brooklyn for the world.

None of this really explained why he was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge with absolutely no motive whatsoever.

He didn’t have anything to talk about with Kelly or the Walking Mouth, Race had alerted him the day before that he wouldn’t be at Sheepshead that day, and he didn’t have any business with any of the other Manhattan boys. Perhaps he was driven by the boredom of an uneventful day, but all he really knew was that he was two minutes away from the end of the bridge and had _absolutely no idea what to do once he reached the docks_. This was completely new territory for the mighty Spot Conlon (figuratively, not literally - he had passed the docks enough times that he was sure he could do it with his eyes closed).

Quiet humming caught Spot’s attention as he neared the end of the bridge. Looking around, he saw only one other person on the bridge - a teenage boy, standing by the railing and gazing out over the water. He was a newsboy, if the hat on his head and the newspaper in his hands gave anything away, and he seemed a year or two younger than Spot himself. A part of his brain recognised this boy as one of Race’s friends that he’d seen around before, which was ultimately very unhelpful as Race was friends with practically every newsboy in Manhattan and then some. Still, he felt as if he should have been able to put a name to the familiar blue-and-white striped shirt.

“Nice voice,” he said suddenly, not able to find any other way to start a conversation. He didn’t have anything else to do anyway, so why not?

To his amusement, the boy let out a sound that could be described as a squeak before he spun around, clearly embarrassed at the fact that he was caught. And as he realised who exactly had caught him...well, that was even funnier.

“Spot Conlon!” he gasped, trying to back up against the railing as if he was being cornered (he probably felt like he was). “I didn’t- you- where did...thanks?”

“You can relax, kid,” Spot said, taking a step forward to test where he stood with this newsie. “I ain’t here for anything serious.” The younger boy seemed to tense at the movement before Spot’s words registered in his mind, and he visibly let himself relax.

“Okay,” he said quietly, obviously still unsure. “Okay…” He watched as Spot walked to join him by the railing, and the two of them turned to face the water.

A few quiet moments passed, then “Race is at the lodging house watching over some of the younger boys, if you was looking for him.”

Spot let himself chuckle lowly, shaking his head. Did he really have a reputation in Manhattan for only coming over for business or Race? “I ain’t here for Race either.”

“Oh,” was the reply, followed by “So...why are you here?”

Spot blinked. He should have expected this question, he really should have, but the truth was that he still didn’t have an answer.

“Well…” He looked over to the other boy, racking his brain for a name. It was there, somewhere, he’d played a game with this boy before, what was it…?

“Romeo?” he tried, getting wide eyes and a surprised nod in return. Good, he didn’t just embarrass himself. “I don’t really know why I’s here. Probably boredom.”

“The great Spot Conlon gets bored?” Romeo asked, the teasing tone obvious in his voice. “I always thought there was too much trouble to sort out for you to get bored. Least, that’s what others say.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s been happening today.” He gestured to the newspaper that the other boy was still holding. “You’ve seen the pape.”

Romeo nodded, flipping up the paper to read the headline. “‘Theodore Roosevelt accused of lying.’ And I thought they wanted these papes to sell!”

As Romeo laughed at his own joke - which happened to get Spot to chuckle a bit too - the latter couldn’t help but notice a distinct change between the scared boy from before and this more carefree kid. The shift had seemed quick as well; if Spot had glanced away, he probably would have thought that he was talking to two different boys.

“Can I ask a question, Romeo?” Spot asked, causing the younger to shut his mouth quickly. _Huh._

“Uh, yeah! Sure.”

“What were you so scared of earlier? I just said you sounded good.”

The question seemed to catch Romeo off guard, based on the way he stuttered for a couple of seconds as he tried to answer. Spot couldn’t help but be slightly concerned, but he forced himself to be patient - experience of talking to some of his own newsies taught him that it was best to let a boy answer a question in his own time, especially if the question was at all personal.

“Well, I just...it’s just that you’s Spot! You’s Spot Conlon!” Romeo started, as if that answered everything. “I thought you was just saying that ‘cause you wanted me to do something for you, or something like that, get me to feel willing to help or whatever. I don’t know! It’s not every day the king of Brooklyn comes up and starts talkin’ to you!”

Spot watched the younger newsie as he looked back out over the water to avoid his gaze.

“That ain’t everything and you know it.”

Romeo sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get away with not answering the question. He had known this in the first place, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try - worst it would lead to was more questions, which it did.

“It’s just...I come here after selling sometimes, just for a moment alone, y’know?” he confessed. “The river’s calming to watch, and the bridge usually ain’t that busy around this time. Honestly, I thought you….I thought you was gonna kick me off the bridge.”

For a second, Spot almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the thought; seeing the open and scared look in Romeo’s eyes as the boy looked back over, however, stopped him.

“Why would I have any reason to kick you off?” he asked, not fully understanding where Romeo was coming from.

“Well, for a second I was thinking that the bridge was actually part of Brooklyn, and I just wasn’t aware,” Romeo explained, his eyes not quite meeting the king of Brooklyn’s. “‘Cause it’s called the Brooklyn Bridge, right? And-”

“Kid,” Spot interrupted, not able to stop the slight chuckle that escaped his lips. “The border of Brooklyn is over _there_.” He waved his hand in the direction of the other end of the bridge, faint in the distance due to the size and length of the structure. “And that’s pretty far from here, if you ask me. I ain’t allowed to do nothing to anyone if it ain’t on my turf, and this ain’t my turf.”

“Really?”

“And who am I to kick someone from their safe place?” Spot continued. “Everybody needs a bit of peace and quiet every now and then. What kind of person would I be if I took that away from someone who ain’t even one of mine?”

Romeo said nothing, but he looked as if he was thinking this new information over - Spot had a feeling that he hadn’t expected to hear this kind of thing from him.

“Surprised?”

“No!” At Spot’s pointed look, Romeo sighed. “Okay, well, maybe. Just...for all the stuff people say about you - that ain’t a bad thing, I promise! I just wasn’t expecting something like...that.”

“People thinking I’s all fists ‘cause I’s king or something?” Spot asked, summing up what Romeo was implying but couldn’t bring himself to say. A nod was the response. “Well, Romeo, a king can do whatever he wants with his power, abuse it or otherwise. A _good_ king knows that respecting people will lead to people respecting him, you just need to throw in a punch or two sometimes to show you ain’t weak. We’s all got borders that we don’t want nobody crossing, don’t we?”

This time, Spot let himself chuckle at the look of awe and appreciation on Romeo’s face. Then, without warning, he turned towards Manhattan and started walking.

“I’s gonna go visit Racer to see if he or any of the others is up for a game.” A couple of steps away, he paused and looked back. “You gonna come with?”

Something that most of the newsies outside of Brooklyn were taught was that Spot Conlon ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist. Which, in some aspects, was true - step one foot into the borough uninvited and you’d probably be soaked through. However, one thing that Romeo learned that day was that just because someone was to be feared doesn’t mean they were going to treat others as if they were rubbish on the street. Spot Conlon had enough heart to not overstep where he didn’t need to, and Romeo could respect that.

Another thing that Romeo learned that day was that Spot could give Race a run for his money during any game of cards, and that was nice to know too.


	2. Finch and Blink - Slingshots, Puddles and Only One Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blink is a pessimist and Finch likes shooting stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the last time I watched Newsies Live I kept noticing Finch and his slingshot.

Mindlessly, Finch plucked another pebble from the small bag tied to the bottom of his suspenders and placed it in the pocket of his slingshot, pulling his arm back and bringing the projectile to his eye level. With one eye closed, he took a split second to aim before releasing the strings and letting the pebble fire off, hitting his target.

There was no doubt that Finch was the resident sharpshooter of the Lower Manhattan newsies, at least when it came to using a slingshot. He had six years of practice under his belt after all - nine-year-old Finch had had an obsession with shooting a rubber band everywhere, a year later he had stumbled across a perfect looking stick on his way back home, and then two years after that (when he first became a newsboy), little Buttons had helped him to attach a piece of fabric to the contraption. Even though the weapon was constantly being fixed up, improved or polished, every newsie knew that this slingshot was Finch's prized possession and you would never catch him without it somewhere on his body.

Most of the time, anyway. Nobody likes to talk about the time it disappeared for a bit (especially Albert - _that_ was painful).

"What're you shooting at, bird boy?"

Rolling his eyes at the playful jab, Finch turned to face the speaker - Kid Blink - as the boy walked up.

"C'mon, just 'cause I hit a bird once-"

"Yeah, you hit a bird once and now you's named after it."

Finch opened his mouth to retaliate then immediately closed it again. _He has a point...although I's sure that wasn't a finch._

"So anyways, what're you shooting at?" Blink asked again, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking expectantly at the younger boy.

 _He's really good at showing emotion in just one eye,_ Finch thought absently. He gestured vaguely in the direction of his target.

"Just a puddle."

Plucking another little pebble from the bag at his waist, Finch quickly aimed and fired at the puddle, watching as it splashed into the water. Blink whistled.

"Wish I could shoot like that," he commented offhandedly, earning a confused look from the boy standing next to him.

"It wasn't _that_ good of a shot," he replied. In his opinion, that was true - the stone had barely hit the edge of the puddle, quite far from the centre considering the rather large size of the target. The shot was more rushed than anything; _Blink could definitely beat that..._

"You can easily beat that, I bet!" he exclaimed, before sticking his arm out. "Here, try it."

Blink looked incredulously at the slingshot Finch was offering to him, not making any move to take it.

"I ain't a shooter, Finch," he claimed. "Screwed up depth perception, y'know?"

"...Death...person...?"

"Depth perception. I think that's what Davey said, anyway. Missing an eye makes it harder to judge where stuff is, or something like that."

Finch blinked.

"I'd rather soak a guy with my fists, anyway-"

"Blink, that's ridiculous!" Finch cut him off. "Who says you need two eyes to shoot? I close an eye when I aim anyway!" Quickly, he fished another pebble out of his little bag and offered Blink the slingshot again, this time with the stone. "C'mon, Blind Diamond. When's your eye ever stopped you doing something before?"

Seconds passed as neither boy seemed to move. Blink stared at the slingshot with his visible eye narrowed (and probably the eye behind his eyepatch as well), presumably arguing with himself in his head about whether he should try it out or not.

Finch was just about to pull away and apologise when Blink finally reached out and grabbed the little weapon.

"Yeah, okay, _fine_ ," he muttered, clumsily putting the pebble in the pocket and tugging at the strings. He raised the slingshot for a second, paused, then dropped it down again, seemingly glaring at it for some reason. Finch watched on, part of him confused and part of him admittedly amused.

"C'mon, quit stalling!"

"I ain't stalling!" Blink protested, raising the slingshot again anyway. This time he brought it up to his good eye - _probably copying how he saw me do it earlier,_ Finch thought - and let the pebble fly.

Both boys watched as the stone soared through the air before landing cleanly in the middle of the puddle with a quiet splash.

"YES BLINK!" Finch cheered as Blink merely stood and stared at the puddle in surprise. Quickly that surprise turned into awe at what he had just managed to do, and his eyes trailed down to the slingshot in his hand.

"...Huh," was all he said, before looking back up to his friend. He sighed when he saw the smug look on Finch's face.

"Don't you dare."

"...Told you so."

"You- ugh, fine, I guess you did."

Smiling giddily at Blink, Finch stole back his slingshot and tucked it safely into the waistband of his trousers. Then he gestured in the direction of the lodging house with his head, silently asking a question that they both knew the answer to since the sun was starting to sink, and the two boys started walking.

"You should try shooting more often," Finch suggested idly. "Gives you another way to fight, if you need one."

"I mean, sure." Blink shrugged. "But I ain't planning on taking lessons or anything. And I don't got nothing to shoot with."

"Nah, who needs lessons? Practice makes perfect."

"You got years of practice already, I ain't catching up with that. And I still don't got one of 'em slingshots or nothing."

"Just throw the rocks. Works the same."

Finch laughed as Blink exaggeratedly rolled his good eye, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"...Hang on." Blink stopped, looking curiously at the bag hanging off Finch's suspenders. "Wait, you just...you just keep a bag of rocks?"

"Well, yeah. No point in an empty slingshot, is there?"

Blink still looked confused. "Do you not...run out of them? Ever?"

Finch scoffed good-naturedly. "We's living on the street, Blink. Plenty of rocks." To prove his point, he quickly bent down and plucked a small, sharp-looking rock from the ground, showing it off to Blink before dropping it into his little bag.

"Now come on. I promised Buttons I'd help him build a tower of cards and I ain't missing his face when Jojo knocks it over."

"...I kinda want to see that too."

"Great! You can help me cheer him up after. Now let's _go_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, Finch calling Blink 'Blind Diamond' is a reference to the actual newsboy strike of 1899. The real Kid Blink (the face of the strike) also went by the nicknames 'Blind Diamond' and 'Mugsy McGee' (and possibly some others too!). I thought I'd just incorporate that into a story.


	3. Albert and Les - Stick Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Les is curious and Albert is the expert on the lodging house sticks (featuring a disapproving Davey).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a headcanon going around that Albert is good with children and I had to do something with that. Also I don't know if the lodging house had a common room (it probably didn't) but I needed one for this to work so...in this series, it does have one.

"Hey, Albert?"

"Yeah, short stuff?"

"What's with the stick?"

Albert glanced down at Les from his place on the top bunk, watching as the younger boy picked up the stick that usually rested on the wall by his bed.

"I dunno, kid, it's just a stick," he replied easily, slipping down off the bed to join Les on the floor. "I just...have it. Why?"

Les gave Albert a look that clearly read as ' _I know that's not everything_ ' before he looked back down at the stick in his hands. He flipped it over a few times before speaking up again.

"I don't understand why you got a stick," he mumbled, almost as if he was embarrassed at the fact that he didn't understand something. Which was weird, because he was Davey's little brother, and nobody could understand Davey most of the time.

Well, sometimes Race could. Albert didn't know how he could, but he was jealous of that.

"I've seen Romeo and Mush and Jojo with sticks too," Les went on. "But you're kinda the one I see with a stick the most? I just wanted to ask."

Thinking this over, Albert shrugged. He never really thought about why he liked to carry around a stick like a cane, he just did it. Specs once joked that his nickname should be 'Sticks' because of how often he had the thing (which he immediately refused because he didn't really want a nickname and he _really_ didn't want his nickname to be _Sticks_ of all things; Specs and Romeo still called him that sometimes anyway).

"Maybe I just like sticks, huh? How about that?" Albert kneeled down so that he was at eye level with the young boy, a natural instinct he had from dealing with the younger newsies a lot. "They's nothing serious, pretty sure someone just found them one day and took 'em back here."

With the curious glint only a child could have in their eye, Les glanced back up at Albert as his fingers mindlessly fiddled with the stick again.

"So that's it? You just...have them?"

"Well, we play around a lot," Albert said, taking the stick from Les and walking to the middle of the mostly empty room whilst tapping it on the ground. The boy watched after him intently. "Some of us like dancing around and messing about. Y'know how Buttons likes to tap dance with the broom, right?"

"Buttons can tap dance?" Les asked, the awe extremely evident in his voice. Albert paused.

"Yeah, you's seen him before," he claimed. "At Jacobi's that one time? You was dancing too!"

"Wasn't paying attention much," Les said, shrugging. "Everyone was dancing. How'd he learn, anyway?"

"Probably spends too much time at the theatre." Whilst the snipe didn't go by unnoticed, it was all in good nature - most of the boys loved to hang out around Medda's theatre, and it just so happened that Buttons was good at learning from observation. A little too good. The boy was only just fifteen and he could tap dance like he belonged on that stage. Show off.

By now, Les had went over and grabbed a second stick that had been lying on the other side of the room. After tapping it on the floor a few times, he raised it up to hold it in two hands.

"Does it hurt if someone hits you with it?" he blurted out suddenly, his question blunt in the same way a lot of children's questions tended to be. Albert wanted to say he wasn't surprised; truth be told, however, it caught him a bit off guard.

"I mean, if you hit someone hard enough with anything it's gonna hurt," he replied. "Doubt a stick would be any different. But we _have_ practiced blocking blows and stuff before. Some of us like to stick fight in our spare time-"

"You stick fight?!" Les interrupted suddenly, his eyes lighting up in excitement. Realising what the younger boy could be thinking, Albert tried to backpedal.

"Well, yeah, but we's practiced in the skill, we knows what we're doing-"

"Can you teach me?!"

Well. He hadn't quite managed to avoid what he had wanted to avoid.

"I dunno, Les, I don't think Davey would-"

"Davey wouldn't care," Les cut him off, his eyes firm and his voice sure.

It was Albert's turn to give a disbelieving look.

"...Davey wouldn't care as long as I don't get hurt?"

Albert sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to avoid Les' puppy eyes forever - and even if he could, he didn't think he would have been able to live with the 'disappointed pout' that he had witnessed Race earn after refusing to teach the boy how to bet on a poker game. At least he could say he was teaching Les how to defend himself.

"Fine."

Les cheered, almost hitting Albert in the face with the stick he was holding as he threw his arms into the air.

"But if Walking Mouth starts having a go at me, you gotta tell him you was the one who wanted to do this, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go!"

As the two made their way outside, Albert made a mental note to thank Mush and Blink later for distracting Davey as they passed the common room to get out.

(Even though a small part of him almost wanted Davey to catch them and stop them from doing something stupid. Almost. He may or may not have wanted his share of the fun too.)

"Alright, short stuff, here's the deal." Now outside of the building, Albert stood squarely in front of Les, casually leaning on his stick as the younger boy waited in anticipation. "We gotta do this stuff safely. Ain't no fun in getting hurt, y'know? So there's some important rules you gotta remember."

Les nodded eagerly, trying to get Albert to hurry up so that they could get onto the fun part.

"One, never swing at someone's head. If they don't block it properly, that could be serious damage. Two, don't swing at someone's feet if both of you ain't practiced in that move. That could send them tumbling to the dirt, and you don't want that. Three, you ain't actually trying to kill your opponent. I had to make that clear to Tommy Boy the first time he tried this." That brought a giggle, and Albert smiled before he continued. "Four, if one of you's get hurt you stop immediately, that's a given. And I probably forgot something, but those are the important ones, you got that?"

"Don't swing at the head, don't swing at the feet, don't kill anyone and stop if someone gets hurt," Les recited, nodding decisively to show that he understood.

 _He's already better than Romeo was at this_ , Albert joked to himself as he assumed a fighting stance. "Alright, kid, the rest of it is pretty straight forward. Stand like me."

~

"Albert."

Albert froze in his place, one foot through the door of the lodging house, as he heard his name get called out by a voice that definitely wasn't looking for a lesson in stick fighting. A cough sounded out from the common room that sounded suspiciously like a badly disguised laugh.

"...Yeah, Davey?"

"Why have I just seen Les trying to sword fight Jojo with sticks?"

Another muffled giggle. He should have seen this coming.

"I dunno, he could have picked that up from anyone at any time-"

"Mush told me he saw the two of you sneak out - with sticks - yesterday afternoon."

A gasp, a laugh and a harsh yet amused hiss for the other two to shut up. That was Mush and Blink in the common room, Racetrack clearly accompanying them. Goddamnit, Mush.

That didn't matter, though. What mattered was the fact that David Jacobs was standing in front of him with a close to murderous look in his eyes. Les sure had a protective brother.

"Okay- so, I didn't- I mean- well- he, y'know...it- it was his idea!" Albert stumbled over his words, trying (and probably failing, he had to admit) to come up with an explanation that wouldn't result in a very disappointed Davey. "He just asked me about the sticks, and I was talking and kind of mentioned it, and then he just jumped onto the thought!"

"Davey?" a timid, younger voice spoke up from behind him. _Thank god_. "I...please don't blame Albert. It was my idea."

Davey visibly softened at the sight of his younger brother, and after hearing from Les what Albert had miserably tried to get across, he let out a slow breath.

"...You made sure that neither of you would get hurt?" he asked after a moment of consideration, the more threatening tone in his voice now gone.

"Told him all the rules, wouldn't dream of hurting the kid, went at it easier than I would've done with some of the others," Albert rambled, noticing Les nodding along out of the corner of his eye. "If Les got hurt I would've told you straight away and I'd never let myself take care of him again."

"You's seen him with the other younger newsies, he knows what he's doing," Les added on.

"You've," Davey corrected, dragging a hand through his hair as he thought about what he had been told.

There was a tense moment as everyone seemed to be waiting for Davey's conclusion - even the people who had been giggling away in the common room had gone quiet.

"...Fine, you're fine for now," Davey sighed, and Albert felt himself release a breath that he hadn't even known he had been holding. "But next time, tell me before you do something like that again, alright?"

After confirmation from the two boys, Davey walked away, and Les turned to smile victoriously up at Albert.

"Told you he wouldn't care as long as I didn't get hurt."

"Uh- he _very clearly cared_ , short stuff," Albert stated, facing the younger boy. "He almost- did you see him? I was gonna get it!"

"He wouldn't have done anything," Les claimed, sound a little too sure of himself for an almost-ten-year-old. He took off towards the bunk room. "Jack's our selling partner. This was nothing."

Watching after the younger boy for a second, Albert was suddenly reminded of a _very vital reason_ as to why Davey had known that _he_ was the one who had taught Les how to stick fight and not anybody else.

"Mush Meyers, you little _snitch_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a trainwreck, I'm so sorry. I was going to write the whole stick fight part but I'm pretty sure it would have ended up bland and boring so I'll leave that up to your imagination. Also, this was originally going to be an emotional story of Albert and his connection to the sticks...but it's Albert and Les, I couldn't do that. The emotion will come later. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Jojo and Tommy Boy - Shut Up, Mr Mulberry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tommy Boy has a bad day and Jojo is an actual dork (featuring an unlucky Albert).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea literally came to me at 10 o'clock at night and I wrote half of this at midnight, so it probably isn't as good as the others. Never mind, I guess. Enjoy!

A loud bang sounded out through the lodging house as somebody slammed the front door shut. All eyes shifted to whoever had just entered, before instantly shifting away again after seeing the look of pure frustration in the boy's eyes. Tommy Boy stormed through the house without breathing a word to anyone, clearly not in the mood for conversation as he disappeared upstairs into what was presumably the bunk room.

Jojo looked over to Albert, who he was currently playing cards with, and let himself ask what his common sense told him not to.

"What's up with him?"

"It's Tommy Boy, Jo," Albert replied as he placed down a card from his hand. "Nobody knows what's up with him."

Jojo glared at his cards after seeing what Albert had placed down and reluctantly picked up the pile on the floor, grumbling to himself as the other boy chuckled.

" _I know_ you could've played another card there."

"It's all in the strategy, Jojo."

"Yeah, well...now you's given me all the good stuff, so there!"

"I's also only got two cards left, so play wisely."

This time, Jojo glared at Albert as he placed down the two lowest cards in his hand. In turn, Albert played his jack, leaving an ace in his hand and the knowledge that he had definitely won the game. The grin he wore faded, however, when he saw the distracted look on his opponent's face.

"You really ain't still thinking about-"

"No one ever helps him when he's like that, Al, what's I supposed to do?"

"You's too kind for your own good, Jo," Albert commented, waiting impatiently for Jojo to play a card so he could claim victory. "He ain't gonna talk, you really think you can do anything?"

"...Well, I could..." Jojo looked up at Albert, and the older boy instantly knew what he was thinking.

"He would _not_ like it if you did that."

"Why not? It works with the-"

"He ain't a little kid, Jojo, that's a stupid idea."

Apparently Jojo hadn't heard him, though, as the boy was already getting up from his place on the ground.

" _Somebody's_ gotta help him, Al, it ain't fair if he's just left on his own," he said, leaving his cards on the ground as he stood up. "And if this don't work, well...I'll try another way, or something."

"Wait, Jo, you can't just-!" Albert's protest was in vain as Jojo had already left the room, and he was left to look down at the discarded cards in defeat. _So close yet so far_ , he thought as he started gathering all of the cards together.

"Hey, Elmer, wanna play?"

~

Entering the seemingly empty bunk room, Jojo made a quick detour to his and Button's bunk, where he pulled something out from under his pillow. He studied the object warmly for a second before holding it behind his back and making his way over to where he was pretty sure Henry and Tommy Boy's bunk was, trying his best to be quiet. As soon as he got there, he caught sight of the boy he was looking for; Tommy Boy was sat at one end of the lower bunk, facing the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest. His shoulder's were hunched defensively and Jojo was sure that he knew he was there, even though he made no move to show it.

"What's up, Tommy Boy?" Jojo asked seriously, carefully approaching the bed where the other boy was huddled. Silence was his only answer, with no indication that Tommy Boy had even heard him (even though Jojo knew he had). Sitting on the floor by the foot of his bed, Jojo took his hand out from behind his back to reveal a newspaper clipping with a badly drawn man scribbled on it.

"Well, you won't talk to Jojo," he said, pitching his voice up and holding the paper on the bed, "But maybe you'll talk to Mr Mulberry?"

"I ain't a little kid, Jojo," Tommy Boy grumbled lowly, echoing what Albert had said. He didn't move from his position facing the wall.

"Well, yeah," Jojo replied, keeping up the playful, childish voice he had given the drawing, "But Mr Mulberry don't just help younger newsies, he can help older newsies like us too!"

"Shut up," Tommy Boy growled, clearly not wanting to deal with this at the moment. "I don't need this right now, Jojo."

Still, even though he knew he shouldn't have, Jojo persisted.

"There ain't a Jojo here, just Mr Mulberry-"

"FINE! Mr Mulberry, shut the _hell_ up and _leave me alone _!" Tommy Boy shouted suddenly, raw anger laced into his voice that took Jojo by surprise as he threw himself down onto the bed and curled tightly into himself. In the stunned silence that followed, Jojo wordlessly picked himself up from the floor and sat himself on the other side of the bed, Mr Mulberry held loosely in his hands.__

A tense minute passed where neither boy said anything, Jojo waiting for the other to open up and Tommy Boy waiting for the other to leave; Jojo was just about to give up and walk away when he heard a soft sob sound from the boy next to him.

"...Tommy Boy?" he tried quietly, not wanting to cause another outburst from the currently sensitive boy.

The sound of his name - or maybe just hearing Jojo's voice in general - seemed to set Tommy Boy off as more sobs started to rack through his body. Cautiously, Jojo reached out and helped the younger boy to sit up next to him before putting a gentle arm around his shoulders; Tommy Boy leaned heavily into his friend as he cried properly for what felt like the first time in years, feeling vulnerable yet protected at the same time.

As the tears started to subside, Tommy Boy shakily whispered, "I's so sorry, Jojo."

"It's not your fault," Jojo reassured him. "Everyone's got bad days."

"Yeah, but not everyone's a proper dick about it."

"You ain't being a dick, you's just being...emotional, I guess."

"I don't like it. Being emotional."

"Yeah, well, they don't call you Tough Boy Tommy for nothing."

Jojo chuckled to himself as Tommy Boy cringed. "I hate that name."

"Well, it's got a grain of truth in it."

"Don't mean I have to like it."

Jojo smiled, noticing that Tommy Boy had calmed down considerably.

"You good now?" he tried asking, before picking up the newspaper clipping and changing his voice again, "Or does Mr Mulberry still got work to do?"

"Stop with Mr Mulberry, oh my god," Tommy Boy whined as he shoved his friend lightly, although there was no menace behind it. "Where'd you even get that thing anyway?"

"I think I drew it about a year ago 'cause I was bored and Buttons asked me what his name was. He really helps to cheer the littl'uns up, so...he's sticking around."

"Huh," was all Tommy Boy said, studying the drawing. "You's a good person, y'know, Jojo."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Jojo said bashfully, shrugging. "What happened anyway?"

"Eh, same old, same old, don't really wanna talk about it," Tommy Boy muttered, fingers mindlessly scratching at his upper arm. "Couple of guys on the street just ticked me off, that's all."

Jojo could tell that that was definitely _not_ all, but for the sake of both of them he decided not to push. He'd already done that before, and look where that lead him.

"Well, you's good now, right?" he asked, getting a nod in return. "Feeling up to coming back downstairs and playing some cards?" At the mention of cards, however, Jojo was suddenly reminded of his game with Albert earlier, and got the feeling that going downstairs was probably _not_ the best idea.

"Yeah, why no-"

" _Actually_ , how's about we go see if anyone's at Jacobi's instead?"

"What? Why?" Tommy Boy asked, confused at Jojo's quick change as the older boy stood up.

"Well, Albert might be mad at me," Jojo started, before answering the question in Tommy Boy's eyes. "I _sorta kinda may have_ taken his win away from him?"

"I mean, Jacobi's sounds good," Tommy Boy said as he stood up and watched Jojo place the drawing back under his pillow. "How many cards did he have left, though?"

"...One?"

" _Oh my god,_ Jojo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Mr Mulberry was originally a stuffed monkey called Mr Monkey, but then I found out that stuffed animals didn't really become a proper thing until around 1903, which is four years too late (ugh).  
> The game Albert and Jojo were playing at the start of this story is a version of the card game I call 'Donkey Kong', but I'm pretty sure it has a different name. Basically, you have to put down a card of equal or higher value to the last, and if you can't do that then you pick up the whole pile (there's more rules but that's the gist of it).  
> Also, did you know that the word 'dick' has been used as an insult for far longer than the word 'douche'? The things I research to write these...


	5. Specs and Race - Buddies on the Fire Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Race has some problems and Specs is a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Albert appear in so many of these?  
> Also this went in random directions, I'm not entirely sure what happened. The chapter title hardly has anything to do with the story too. Oh well.
> 
> TW: A section in this slightly goes into the background of some of the newsies, and it's what you can expect really. Mentions of alcohol, violence and nightmares (but they're fleeting and the story doesn't revolve around them so take that under consideration and look after yourself).

Racetrack Higgins was _not_ an idiot. He was many things, but an idiot was definitely not one of them.

Which explained why he was currently dangling from the railing of the fire escape by the back of his vest. Obviously.

"You's an idiot, Racer," Specs grumbled as he looked up at his friend, unamused.

"Hey- okay, this was _not_ my fault," Race protested, shifting the hand that was gripping the railing behind him.

"So who's fault was it then?"

"...Not mine?"

" _Racetrack_."

"Okay, look, just-" Race spluttered as he tried to swing forward, causing his hand to slip slightly. "Just help me get down before I rip my favourite vest!"

"That's your only vest."

" _Exactly_!"

" _And_ your feet are practically touching the ground, just slip your arms out your vest and drop down."

"...Oh yeah."

Slipping his free arm through his vest sleeve, Race let go of the railing and let himself drop to the ground. He reached up and swiftly snatched his vest from the fire escape, pulling it back on as he looked at Specs with something akin to embarassment sketched on his face.

"Thanks, Specs."

"No problem," Specs brushed him off. Watching as people started making their way out of the lodging house, Race and Specs took off towards the circulation gate. "How'd you even get stuck there, anyway?"

"Oh! Me and Al were up early, just went out to talk a bit," Race explained, pulling his cigar out of his trouser pocket and twirling it in his fingers. "When we heard the bell, he went back in and I tried to jump the rail to get down. You, uh, you know the rest."

Hearing Race's explanation, Specs' eyes furrowed slightly. "You and Albert were up early?"

Race nodded, not quite meeting the older boy's eyes, and Specs understood. Only a few of the newsies knew about Race and Albert's occasional early morning chats, but Specs was one of the only ones who had any idea of why they happened.

"Who was it this time?" he asked, voice low to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, and he waited patiently when Race's fidgeting paused for a moment and he seemed to hesitate.

"...Al was the one who woke me up," Race muttered, staring at the cigar in his hand. "But honestly I wasn't really getting much sleep either. We was just joking around a bit, lightening things up. I guess I was tired, that's why I didn't make the railing."

Specs, being the second oldest after Jack, knew more than he should have about what his friends (and himself, sometimes) had to go through. If you lived in the lodging house, there was no way you came from a happy situation. He could remember some of the stories clearly. Finch had ran away from home three months after becoming a newsboy for reasons he wouldn't disclose. Blink used to live in Brooklyn with his grandparents before he got kicked out as a result of some sort of fight. Ike had showed up on the doorstep of the lodging house sporting cuts, bruises and a black eye, cradling his unconscious brother in his arms. Jack had found Crutchie sleeping in an alleyway in the middle of winter, his forehead burning and his leg unnaturally bent. Romeo had been screaming bloody murder in front of the lodging house at midnight (and it was a miracle the bulls hadn't gotten to him). According to Kloppman, Buttons had showed up when he was six and refused to talk to anyone for two years. Elmer and Albert didn't even need to be there, but they stayed over so often that they had assigned beds anyway; because who would want to spend the night in a tenement with nine siblings or an eternally drunk father?

Specs...he had gotten off easy. His mother lost their apartment (he still didn't know how) so she sent him to live in the lodging house so they wouldn't both be on the street. When she was still alive, he visited her often. He was pretty sure he had the least heartbreaking story out of everybody.

He didn't know much about Race's story, because the younger boy had arrived before him and it was obviously a touchy subject. All he knew was that it was bad. So whenever he heard that Race and Albert had gotten up early to talk to each other...well, he had every right to be worried.

"Where's Albert now?" Specs asked, stuffing his hands into his own pockets as they walked.

"I dunno, I haven't-" Race cut himself off, looking up and noticing something. "Oh, there he is." Looking ahead, Specs saw Albert walking with Romeo and Elmer, a smile gracing his features as if he faced no troubles in the world. It was reassuring to see him happy, especially after what he had just been told.

"Well, if you ever need anything, either of you, you know that we's all happy to help," Specs said, noting how they were getting close to the gate. "And-"

"Actually," Race interrupted him, grabbing Specs' wrist to stop him from walking. Specs looked at him curiously. "Al's birthday is coming up soon. I think it's next week." Specs gasped at the reminder - Albert was going to turn _seventeen_.

"And you wanna...?"

"He said he didn't want a whole big thing or nothing, but I gotta do _something_ y'know?" Race claimed. "He's one of my best friends, it's, like, my job."

"I thought your job was selling papes?" Specs earned himself a slap with Race's hat for the joke. "Alright, alright. Got anything in mind?"

"I was thinking of buying him a seltzer or something, I dunno," Race said, starting to walk again so that the two of them wouldn't be late. "But that means nought, which is why I's asking you."

"It'll mean something if you make it mean something. Just give it to him and say 'happy birthday', I's sure he'll appreciate it."

"Yeah, but-"

"Not enough, huh?"

"It feels so trivial!" Race exclaimed, using a word they had learned off Davey. Specs wasn't entirely sure if Race was using it right, but it sounded natural and they both got what it meant, so that had to count for something.

"How about you just let him keep your cigar for the day?" Specs suggested after a beat of thought. The response was exactly what he expected.

"No way! This is _my_ cigar, ain't no one touching it but _me_ , even on their birthday!" He started pointing it at Specs threateningly, as if he could hurt him with it if he touched it. The only flaw with that plan was that Race never lit that cigar, so the most pain Specs would feel would be a gentle prod.

"Well, that's all I got," Specs shrugged as the two of them walked through the gate. The headline wasn't anything to see, something about the economy again, so they didn't mention it as they stood in line behind Jojo. "Just get him the seltzer, he said he didn't want something big, so it's just something small and special."

Sighing, Race looked back down at the cigar in his hand.

"He's just done so much for me, I feel like I owe him," he mumbled, glancing back up at Specs. "But I just...I don't know _how_. It feels like a little drink that cost a couple cents more isn't enough." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, chuckling in a way that made him sound defeated. His eyes showed the same emotion.

"If you really need something bigger to do, then I's sure it'll come to you," Specs said, swinging an arm around Race's shoulder to try and cheer him up. "You know him best out of all of us, you know what he likes. If you can think of something better, go with it. But a drink that most days we can't afford to splurge on?" Specs chuckled and shook his head. "I think he'll be pretty content. You's best friends, he'll be happy with whatever you get him."

Race looked back up at Specs and smiled, still seeming sort of down but not as defeated as before. "Thanks...again, Specs."

"Don't worry about it." Specs shook his shoulder one more time before taking his arm away from around Race. "Now go out there and sell your papes. Worry about Albert when your bag goes empty. And don't go jumping off the fire escape again - I ain't helping you next time."

Race scoffed. "Some friend you are."

"You say that like we haven't just had this whole conversation!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon that Jack, Specs, Davey and Albert are the oldest newsies, in that order. Also this took a bit of a sad turn. I'm sorry.


	6. The Lower Manhattan Newsies - Late Night Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author tried to write a story with as many newsies as possible and no main character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, one time I wrote a story with seven main characters and went "nope, never again."
> 
> 15 characters who speak, 4 extra who are mentioned (at least, I think) and the focus is on everyone. Well played, me. Well. Played.
> 
> Also keep in mind that I've been sitting on this for like three weeks and the ending was written with a mindset of "must finish this now and post this now" so...the ending probably sucks, sorry!
> 
> Anyway take this and make of it what you will. It was a better idea in my head.

“What if we got a dog for the lodging house?”

“Shut up, Racer.”

“Wh- I’s being serious!”

A low thud and a yelp was heard by everyone in the room, a tell-tale sign that Albert had kicked the top bunk where Race lay for the eighth time that week - and it was only Wednesday.

“I swear, Al, if you break this bed-”

“Actually, that sounds kinda cool,” Elmer piped up from his place a couple of bunks away.

“Would Kloppman like it though? He’s already gotta deal with us,” Buttons pointed out. He heard Jojo on the bed underneath him groaning something about him “ruining the fun”.

“He’s looking after a house full of kids, a dog ain’t gonna be nothing,” Henry replied easily.

“We should get one of those big ones!” Mike said, sitting up excitedly. “Y’know, like that one we saw in the papes the other day that looked bigger than Romeo!”

Romeo perked up after hearing his name. “Hey, I’s not that short!”

“Yeah, which makes the dog even bigger.”

“No, we needs one of them little ones that only go up to your ankle,” Ike claimed, chuckling to himself as a middle finger appeared from the bunk above him. Clearly he and his brother had different viewpoints on the best kinds of dogs.

“Are you kidding?” Specs said, turning towards the twins’ bed. “We’d lose it straight away.”

“And them dogs like to bite a lot.” Blink added in helpfully (at least, he thought he was being helpful). “I should know, one of my regulars has one and it _really_ don’t like me.”

“Yeah, they’s angry ‘cause they’s small, so all the anger’s in a small space.” Mush claimed. “Like Tommy Boy!”

“Oi, shut up, Mush!” said newsie whined, throwing a fist limply in the direction of the other boy with his eyes closed. He was one of the only ones there who was actually trying to sleep, and a couple of the others snickered as he dropped his hand and let it dangle off his bed.

“What would we call it, though?” Finch asked. “‘Cause it needs a good name.”

There was a beat of silence before someone - probably Elmer - spoke up. “I betcha Race would try and call it Spot.”

“Hey, shut up! No I wouldn’t!” Race protested, much to the amusement of the others.

“No, he’d-” Buttons barked out a laugh at his own joke, obviously having thought of something good. “He’d call it _Coronas_!”

At this, everybody in the group burst into laughter, save for Race (who was shouting that no, he wouldn’t, he’s not that obsessed with coronas and that’s a stupid name Buttons) and Tommy Boy (who had merely shoved his pillow over his face in an attempt to block out the noise).

“Hey, pipe down in here!” someone shouted, causing a hush to fall over everyone as they turned to see Jack standing on the fire escape. He carried on in an angry whisper. “I dunno what’s so funny, but me and Crutchie can hear yous all from the rooftop! And I _know_ some of you like to stay up a bit later, but there are other newsies trying to sleep and you gots to get up early in the morning.” Specs winced as he remembered the younger newsie on the bunk above him, peacefully dreaming and somehow undisturbed. “So _keep it down_ or I’s enforcing bedtimes.”

As Jack clambered back to the roof, Henry thought he heard Tommy Boy mutter something about getting a new bunk with a younger newsie, but he didn’t question it.

“So...speaking of Spot,” Mush said after a couple of seconds, “How’s Brooklyn, Racer?”

“How’s I supposed to know?” Race replied. “I ain’t there right now, am I?”

“But you’s there a lot of the time,” Jojo pointed out.

“You’s one to talk, Jojo!” Albert cut in suddenly. Everyone turned to him in surprise. “Like you ain’t spending more and more time in _the Bronx_!”

A bunch of ‘ooh’s’ and laughs sounded out following Albert’s taunt, and Jojo’s eyes widened.

“That’s nothing,” he tried. “I just owe Smalls a couple of favours, that’s all.”

“Favours like what, Jojo?” Finch asked, his voice teasing and suggesting something that all the boys could guess at.

“Not like that!” Jojo said quickly, trying to keep his dignity as the others started snickering around him. “Nothing like that! It’s just some odd jobs like sending messages or whatever. And you’s acting like we don’t know that Sniper is all gone over Smalls!”

Everyone quieted down again at Jojo’s last sentence, and when they didn’t hear the usual protest they all turned to see Sniper fast asleep above Finch.

“...How long’s Sniper been asleep?” Mike asked.

“Who knows.”

“My guess would be quite a bit of time,” Specs claimed. “Though through all our racket? That’s remarkable.”

“Sniper needs to get to the Bronx and ask Smalls out already,” Henry muttered, although it was quiet enough in the room that everyone heard. “Then I don’t gotta hear Smalls’ name in every talk we have whilst selling.”

“Just _asking out_ ain’t gonna do it, though,” Blink countered. “Gotta bring a flower, be impressive or whatever. Right, Romeo?”

There was a pause whilst people waited for a response from the flirty newsboy. When half a minute of silence passed instead, they started to realise that Romeo probably wasn’t just taking a while to think of an answer.

“...Romeo?”

“He’s asleep.”

“You can’t see him, how d’you know that?” Finch asked, peering over at Mush skeptically. There was _no way_ Mush could see Romeo on the bunk above him.

“I’s been his bunkmate for months now, if he were awake I’d be able to hear him,” Mush replied, shrugging. “And he’d be talking. That’s a giveaway.”

As people the newsies mumbled in agreement, Elmer shifted so he was lying on his side.

“Well, I’ll take after Romeo and hit the hay. Wanna be able to get up tomorrow, y’know?”

“Same here. G’night, guys,” Buttons announced, taking his hat and pulling it over his eyes. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently, but nobody knew why.

By now the conversation had turned to hushed voices and quiet giggles. One by one, everybody bid their friends goodnight (or merely stopped taking part in the conversation), drifting off into a night of hopefully peaceful sleep. Before long, Race and Jojo were the only ones left awake.

“We could trade him off. Every day he could go with someone else and help ‘em out. Dogs help sales, right?” Apparently, Race was still obsessed with his dog idea, even though he was struggling to keep his eyes open at this point. Hearing the exhaustion in his friend’s voice, Jojo chuckled.

“Racer, you sound half dead,” he whispered, pulling his threadbare blanket tighter around his body. “Go to sleep, you can keep going on about your dog in the morning.”

“I’s not…” Race yawned. “...I’s fine. I’s awake.”

“No you’re not, Race.”

“Am...too…”

Jojo smiled. “Goodnight, Racetrack.”

Letting out an incoherent mumble that sort of resembled a ‘goodnight’, Race finally let his eyes drift shut and his body fully relax. Jojo, now the only one awake in the whole room, glanced around at all of his friends one more time before turning to face the wall and closing his eyes. Nights like this were the nights where he could forget everything bad about his life. It was peaceful. It was calming. It was happy.

And that was all they really needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole the Dog Spot idea from Tumblr, sorry guys.
> 
> (also my tumblr is @joie-the-scarecrow in case you wanna check out that absolute mess)


End file.
